


Braille

by miniaturemice



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Alcoholism, Disability, Introspective look, Social Commentary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miniaturemice/pseuds/miniaturemice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We’re just humans like them but we’re greasers." Steve crashes on the couch and a documentary about blind people gets him to tell his truths to Ponyboy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Braille

"What you watching?" Steve stumbled in and flopped down onto the couch. The door slammed and I turned in annoyance.

"A documentary about Braille. You know that dots and dashes thing they have on elevators," I answered, taking my eyes off the TV for a second.

Steve fished around the plastic bag he had brought with him and came up with a new bottle of beer. "Braille, eh? Wish I could read that."

"Really? Why?"

"Blind people have a lot more to read into than me. I can barely tell when Pops is gonna take a swing at me or give me money."

I kept quiet; there's not much anyone can say to that.

"They have a lot more to read into than me," he repeated again.

"You could borrow my books," I offered, the minute the words came out, I felt like hitting myself. That was the dumbest thing to have said.

He gave me a weird look. "Not that kind of reading. Where's Soda?"

"He went out with that girl. The blond one, Molly."

"That won't last." Steve said bluntly and I didn't know what to say to that so we watched the TV for a bit more.

"You know Helen Keller?" I asked, taking a stick from the table.

Steve eyed me before swigging down more beer. "No. Who is she?"

"She's this deaf and blind girl who learnt to read, write and talk like normal, you know?"

"No. Why are you telling me this, kid?"

"Just wanted to," I looked closely. Steve seemed a little different today. Not so angry, more like he had just given up on everything and was determined to drink his life away and from the way he was chugging down those bottles, he probably was.

"You know. Sometimes I bet being them is easier than being us."

"Why would it be?"

"It's like this, Pony." Steve straightened and leaned forward to me so I could smell the drink on his breath. It was sweet and hot, heavily intoxicated. I wondered how many he had drank.

"These people are blind and deaf and so people feel sorry for them,. They live in good houses and have a good life even without getting to see and hear and all but they still got parents who probably love them and care for them. They ain't gotta worry about crashing on a bench park at night or if their pops is gonna whip 'em for not giving money." I stared at Steve. Was this really coming from cold, angry Steve?

"And what about people like us?" he continued. "They spit on us when maybe, just maybe, we have even less than them. And do they care? No. 'Cause we look like greasers. We're just humans like them but we're greasers."

"Being a greaser isn't so bad," I said, remembering Johnny.

"It's the worst. You oughta know. My mom and pops don't care. Hell, they make my life the way it is right now. They lie and break their promises and each time like an ass ,I keep believing 'em each time." Steve nodded at his plastic bag. "A couple of bucks might buy me a few cans but it sure ain't buying any love from them."

I stayed silent, scared to do anything. He was in the weirdest mood and I didn't know what might set him off. I wasn't scared if he made a jab at me but this was different, this just felt weird.

The front door clicked open and Soda walked in. "Hey Ponyboy. Hey Steve." he greeted us.

Then, Soda saw Steve's face and made for him. "Buddy, are you drunk? How many did you take?"

Steve stood up and I noticed he was swaying a little and held the couch for support. He waved Soda's offers to help off.

"Steve-"

"Well, I better get going," he said. "Got a beating to get home to," he grinned at me and Soda before leaving.

"Steve!" Soda called after him again but Steve was already out, too far gone to hear. He was weaving drunkenly, the crunch of his tennis shoes on the pavement.

Soda sighed audibly, the look in his eyes told me that he was worried for his best friend but he turned to me with an easy smile.

"So what did you and Steve do, Pony?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," I told him, facing the TV again.

I thought about Steve then though. Who would have guessed he felt that way or that I would ever feel sorry for him.I wondered if he was right...if he really did feel that way.

**Author's Note:**

> One of the fics I'm really honestly proud of. The subject matter is something close and personal to me. I hope you liked reading it as much as I liked editing it.


End file.
